


arrow in your heart

by stainedglassbirds



Series: lgbt ducks [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Autistic Huey Duck, F/F, Gender Issues, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Dewey Duck, Panic Attacks, Trans Huey Duck, Trans Louie Duck, Trans Violet Sabrewing (Disney), Trans Webby Vanderquack, rewrite of my own fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainedglassbirds/pseuds/stainedglassbirds
Summary: Violet squints with ever-growing concern. “Are you okay?”“Yeah!” he says a bit too loudly, wincing at the sound. “Yeah. I don’t know what made you think otherwise, totally… totally okay here.”or:realizing you're not a boy when you thought you were for 11 years can be a little weird. in huey's case, she's a few steps away from a breakdown
Relationships: Huey Duck & Violet Sabrewing, Huey Duck/Violet Sabrewing
Series: lgbt ducks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960201
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	arrow in your heart

**Author's Note:**

> if you recognize this fic... that's because i wrote it six months ago!! and i was like wow i dont like this anymore. so i decided to rewrite it. the old version can still be found on my page which i may or may not delete someday. right now i dont care about it existing but my feelings could change

Huey is absolutely not panicking.  
  
Really! He’s fine, everything’s _fine._ There’s nothing to worry about. Maybe if he tells himself that enough times it’ll be true.  
  
He groans, biting his nails out of anxious habit. It’s a shame, really. If he ever wants to paint his nails he immediately bites off the polish. He’s had an urge recently to do so, maybe with a pretty deep red— _stop._ _  
_ _  
_Abruptly, he stills his frantic pacing, staring at the fireplace like it’s personally wronged him. The fire flickers, soft on his eyes when it used to be a searing, unfamiliar sight. They didn’t have a fireplace in the houseboat, which in hindsight would have only ended in disaster. He clenches his fists. Unclenches when just a second later he needs to be _moving,_ nervously picking at the hem of his shirt and going back to his tight pace.  
  
The clock ticks.  
  
His gaze darts to the time, bubbling dread carving a pit in his stomach as each second passes slower and slower. It’s almost one. His mind tears between wanting the arms to move faster and for one o’clock to never come.  
  
 _Tick._ _  
_ _  
_“Get a grip, Huey,” he mumbles. _Tick._ “I’m—I’m worrying over nothing. She’ll come, and figure out what’s wrong with me, and then things will go back to being normal! It’s _fine._ ” _Tick._  
  
He lets out a distressed sound, hands moving to grab his hair, digging into his head for some level of _stability._ His hair is longer than it’s ever been. He just… stopped getting it cut one day, letting the curls brush to his chin. No one said anything about it. Carefully, he doesn’t bring it up, fearing something will _happen_ if he does.  
  
 _Tick._ _  
_ _  
_What will happen? _  
_ _  
_ _Tick._ _  
_ _  
_Why does his stomach twist at the thought?  
  
 _Tick._ _  
_ _  
_“Ugh—shut _up!_ ” he snarls, whirling to face the _stupid_ clock and it’s—  
  
One p.m.  
  
All thoughts fly out the door as a blessed, resounding _knock_ bounces through the room. He nearly lunges for the door—the physical one—and swings it open to see a bewildered Violet.  
  
She blinks, fist still raised in the air. Slowly, she lowers it. “Oh. Hi, Hu—”  
  
“Violet! Hey!” Huey interrupts, hoping he doesn’t sound too out of breath. He leans against the doorframe, holding his hands. After a moment he decides instead to rest them against his back, fidgeting with his fingers.  
  
Violet squints with ever-growing concern. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah!” he says a bit too loudly, wincing at the sound. “Yeah. I don’t know what made you think otherwise, totally… totally okay here.”  
  
Clearly, Violet doesn’t believe him, but she lets it go. “You said it was an emergency.”  
  
He struggles to keep his expression under control, cursing his earlier-this-day self for making this seem like a bigger deal than it is. “That was—that was kind of an exaggeration, but I _do_ need to talk to you.”  
  
“Alright. Well, that’s what I came here for, so we can start when you’re ready,” Violet says, letting herself in, the towering doors closing behind her.  
  
“Um. We can go to my room, my siblings are out right now,” Huey offers, though it’s more of a plea as he hopes Violet will agree. Sure, Dewey, Louie and Webby are off on an adventure, but that doesn’t mean the manor is _completely_ empty, and this matter feels too… private. Dumb. He’d be mortified if someone overheard him, so talking in the open is off the table.  
  
There he is, making this a bigger issue than it actually is again. Why is this setting off his anxiety so _high?_ _  
_ _  
_“That’s fine by me.”  
  
Does that mean it’s not fine? Is she annoyed? He understands why she tries to stay inexpressive but in his opinion it only causes more miscommunication. “Great!” Huey says instead of voicing the near-manic questions running through his head.  
  
He grabs Violet’s hand, just managing to not dash for the stairs. Calm down, stop acting weird, it’s _fine._ _  
_ _  
_They don’t talk during the time it takes to get to his room, which is annoyingly in one of the furthest places from the front door, sitting in one of the manor’s towers. The silence isn’t— _tense,_ but it’s not exactly comfortable, the air resting heavily on his shoulders.  
  
Violet seems to notice his plight, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He breathes out a sigh. She really is a good friend. She’s patient, kind, and always tries to be understanding, so surely she’ll hear him out.  
  
When they reach his room, he gently closes the door behind him with a soft _click._ He stares at the knob, giving himself a moment to collect himself and calm his racing heart.  
  
It seems the universe has other plans when he turns to face Violet, sitting on Louie’s bunk with crossed legs, and suddenly his anxiety _skyrockets_ through the roof and shatters any sense of tranquility he managed to scrounge up.  
  
“What did you want to talk about?” she prompts, brown eyes boring into his.  
  
He fidgets under her gaze. “I, um—it’s just—” The words stick in his throat like glue. Was the room always this small? “I’ve been…” been _what?_ Freaking out over nothing? Going through a phase? “It’s—” he grits his teeth, holding his arms, and they’re _burning,_ heat racing through his skin and stabbing it despite the air conditioning, he must be sick, he has to be, that explains why suddenly the room is tilting and his head is filled with a nauseating dizziness with a stick lodged in his throat and he can’t _speak_ he can’t _breathe—_ _  
_ _  
_ _He can’t breathe._ _  
_ _  
_The realization hits him like the lack of air in his lungs, his hands flying to his throat, panic only shortening his breaths as they struggle to get past the closing walls of his lungs, he can’t breathe he needs to breathe _he can’t—_ _  
_ _  
_“Hu—” Violet— _Violet’s here Violet’s here—_ slices through the buzzing static only for her voice to be drowned out by it and then hands are gripping his wrists, pulling his nails from his skin, leaving crescent marks behind he didn’t even realize he was making.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Violet whispers, hands firm on his, anchoring him to reality. She stands blurry in front of him, tears cascading down his cheeks and filling his mouth with salt. “I need you to focus on my breathing, and repeat the pattern. Can you do that?”  
  
It takes him a second to process her words, thoughts jumbled like someone walked in and tore open every box of memories and let them buzz in his head until there was nothing but that yawning static. “I—” he chokes, voice rising with a crack as his throat firmly shuts on his words.  
  
Violet takes one of his hands, pressing it to her chest where he can feel the steady up and down of her breath. “Focus on breathing, it’s okay. Inhale for four seconds,” she breathes in slowly.  
  
Huey struggles to follow her instructions, body gasping for air and protesting the idea of slowing down when he’s so clearly dying.  
  
“Hold for seven.”  
  
He _can’t,_ he can’t do this, he can’t do anything but sit here and drown in the overwhelming sensations.  
  
“Exhale for eight.”  
  
Her voice is firm, grounded like an island in the ocean. The hand still gripping his is calloused, he realizes, likely from the physical work she does—Junior Woodchucks is no joke.  
  
 _Four, seven, eight._ _  
_ _  
_Her sweater is soft and hand knit, and he wonders if it was a gift from a family member.  
  
 _Four, seven, eight._ _  
_ _  
_The tears left sticky tracks on his face, and he has to fight the urge to wipe them away, hating the sensation of it. Outside of being utterly embarrassing, it’s one of the reasons he hates crying.  
  
He swallows, regulating his breaths, matching the speed to Violet’s pace. The process continues, on and on, for what could be a few minutes or maybe tens have passed. It feels like reality warped, throwing him into a space where time and—and feeling didn’t really exist, then decided to chuck him back out except everything’s been moved to the left so it’s still _wrong._ _  
_ _  
_But, slowly, the world starts building itself back into something more solid.  
  
The searing heat reminiscent of a hot summer’s day begins to fade, lifting off his skin and letting the air conditioner blast on it instead, the change in temperature somewhat jarring.  
  
He takes a shuddering, tentative breath, and relief _explodes_ in his chest when he finds the air comes in easily. He’s not dying. He almost wants to cry from the alleviation, leftover tears prickling in his eyes.  
  
Standing here, everything feels—feels a little easier, now. Not perfect. Not exactly _okay._ But manageable.  
  
He’s shaking, he notes, staring at his hand still firmly planted against Violet’s chest. He doesn’t know how worse it was before, but now, it’s only a light tremble. With some effort, he peels his hand away. He keeps his other hand in Violet’s grip, unwilling to let go just yet. Violet doesn’t seem willing either.  
  
“You should sit down,” Violet says softly.  
  
“Huh?” Huey startles. “O-oh, right, yeah…” he mumbles.  
  
Slowly, he pulls away from the door, only to immediately stumble on shaky legs. Violet swiftly catches him before he can crack his head open on the floor, adjusting his weight against her small stature.  
 _  
_“Sorry—”  
  
“Don’t be,” Violet says resolutely.  
  
Huey can’t find anything to respond with, so he lets her take him to Louie’s bunk, gently lowering him until he hits the soft mattress. His legs give out immediately, and just the idea of using them again makes them ache in protest, wobbling like his bones have been replaced with jello.  
  
Violet’s hands hover, like she’s unsure on what to do. They’re not holding hands anymore. Huey isn’t sure when they stopped. He ignores the disappointment curling in his stomach.  
  
“Do you… need space?” Violet asks with a worried frown, brows scrunched in thought.  
  
“I—” Yes, because he doesn’t want her to see him like this, no, because he doesn’t want to be alone in his thoughts. “I don’t know.”  
  
Violet presses her hands together. “I’ll get you water,” she decides. “Your throat must be really dry.”  
  
Reflexively, he brings a hand up to it, face twisting. “Uh… yeah. It is. How did you—?” he cuts himself off, screwing his eyes as the walls of his throat threaten to close again. Out of the woods, still in the trees.  
  
“I’ve dealt with anxiety myself,” Violet’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. She’s never loud, but she keeps a clear voice, always just enough to hear. “I’m a lot better than I was, but it can flare up sometimes. Either way I have… experience.”  
  
“Oh.” He feels weirdly guilty for asking.  
  
“Don’t get kidnapped while I’m gone,” Violet calls as she leaves the room.  
  
It takes a moment to register that she's joking. He chuckles to himself. Right. Apparently his life is so crazy that getting kidnapped in the few minutes he’s alone in a _tower_ is plausible.  
  
He sighs deeply, flopping onto the bed. The sight of a bunk above him is unfamiliar. He’s always taken the top bunk in life, Dewey and Louie being too scared to sleep that high up. Well, Dewey would never admit that, but Huey knows it’s the reason why they get so dodgy about it.  
  
Absently he scrunches the green blanket under him, feeling the soft fabric. Most people don’t expect Louie to be the cleanest of the triplets, bed perfectly made and neat every morning while Dewey’s has been left a mess since day one and Huey turned his into a fort. _Well,_ Louie isn’t very clean, but he is about their room. It’s the one space he can’t stand being a mess, and god forbid his bed is.  
  
Dewey tends to forget where they place things, leaving random objects in their room or forgetting to take out trash. Huey’s dutiful about trash, but admittedly he can turn the place into a mess when he gets really into whatever his next project is.  
  
He remembers once, years ago, when he was fixated on a paper he needed to finish for school, crumpled up balls around him and empty energy drinks at his desk, writing so fast his wrist hurt. He fell asleep right there, and when he woke up, the place was clean, a blanket on him and pillow under his head.  
  
His siblings didn’t say anything when he woke up, but he knows they did it based on the soft endearment in their eyes.  
  
It was one of those moments in life where he really thought about how Dewey and Louie were always going to be with him. He wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.  
  
Maybe that’s why this is so anxiety inducing. Because if—if this _changes_ things, he doesn’t want to lose them. It’s irrational. It doesn’t make any sense for him to feel this way, but his heart marches on regardless of the logic he tries to press onto it.  
  
The door opens.  
  
Huey sits up as Violet walks in, a glass of ice water in her hands. She shuts the door with her foot, carefully walking over so as to not spill the drink.  
  
“Here.” Violet holds out the glass.  
  
“Thanks.” Huey takes it, and the second the water hits his tongue half of the drink is gone. God, he was really thirsty. Having a panic attack does that to you, he supposes.  
  
Violet sits beside him, movements slow and tentative. She holds her hands in her lap, looking at them instead of him. Privately, he’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could handle eye contact right now.  
  
“...I’m ready,” Huey says.  
  
“Alright. If you ever need to stop, then please do.”  
  
With Violet’s raw concern, he can’t deny her request. He nods, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been… dealing with… identity issues, I guess.” He waves a hand, choosing each word precisely, anticipating that horrible feeling of not being able to breathe to come back. “I’ve always been _me._ I don’t think a lot about myself because I never had to, not like… not like Dewey and Louie. But these past few months, longer, maybe, I can’t stop _thinking_ about it.”  
  
He reaches his hand to his head. “Like—like my hair, I didn’t really _think_ about it until I liked it, and… when it was short, I didn’t like it. I don’t _want_ to cut it. My entire life it’s been short and now suddenly I never want it to be that. Which made me start thinking about other things, like…”  
  
When his voice goes faint, a shaky edge forming, Violet takes hold of his hand. The contact gives him the courage to continue. “I… um. I like… wearing skirts. A lot. and I—I like painting my nails, and—it’s different then just liking it, I guess, because Dewey likes those things but they don’t _want_ to be a—” he halts his words like a train ramming into a wall, freezing.  
  
Dewey likes wearing skirts and painting their nails and they don’t want to be a girl. Huey likes those things, but he doesn’t just _like_ them, because they make him feel... he wants…  
  
“When I was younger,” Violet starts suddenly. Huey jolts, swerving his attention to her. “I didn’t understand why people called me a boy. To me, I was a girl. I detested anyone calling me he, I defied against the color blue, and I didn’t really understand what I was at the time. I was very young. I didn’t have the word transgender. I just knew I was a girl.”  
  
Huey stays very, very still.  
  
“I don’t want to speak for your feelings,” Violet clarifies, thumb rubbing Huey’s palm. “Just that… it’s okay to explore your identity. It’s okay to be unsure, to be _different._ No one has to stay the same forever.”  
  
 _You’re trans?_ Huey almost blurts out, before thinking better of it. This isn't the time.  
  
“I… I’m not supposed to change,” he says weakly. “I’m supposed to stay the same because there needs to be _something_ in life that’s safe, that’s _sure,_ that I’m—I’m _confident_ about, if I change—”  
  
“Then you’ll still be you,” Violet cuts in gently. “Forcing yourself to be the same isn’t healthy in any context. People are always growing. You’re no different. But you are always going to be you. A lot of times, change just means… being more comfortable with yourself. _Happy._ ”  
  
“...I don’t feel very happy with myself.”  
  
“Then maybe it’s time to change.”  
  
Huey sighs. “I don’t know why this is so scary. Something in my brain says that it’s okay if other people change, it’s okay if Dewey and Louie do, but not okay for _me._ Like—I’m worried that I’m lying, or wrong, or that I’m not… _allowed._ I don’t want to slap on a label only to have to rip it off later, I just... want things to be the same,” he confesses quietly.  
  
Violet tilts her head. “Well, you’re always going to have your siblings, aren’t you? Maybe you can’t stop life from changing, but your bond with them won’t. They’re here for you. _I’m_ here.”  
  
Huey steels himself, closing his eyes. “I don’t think I want to be a boy.”  
  
The words are simple. After saying them, it feels like the easiest and hardest thing in the world, chest twisting with immediate regret yet a weight’s been lifted off his—theirs? hers?—shoulders.  
  
Violet smiles. It’s one of the prettiest things they’ve ever seen. “Do you know what you want to be?”  
  
They debate it in their head, terror of being wrong about themself still lingering. _If I’m wrong, it doesn’t matter,_ they think firmly. _I can just change again._  
  
“Can you…” He—they—she fidgets, “try calling me a girl?”  
  
Impossibly, Violet’s smile softens even more. “You’re one of my best friends. You’re very knowledgeable, you know how to have a good debate, you make great hot chocolate, and you’re a girl.”  
  
The world clicks into place.  
  
“I’m a girl,” Huey breathes. It feels so right it _hurts,_ a light feeling swelling in her lungs. “ _I’m a girl,_ ” she repeats, a grin bursting on her face and she can’t help her hands from flapping in the air, letting out a squeal of pure _joy,_ she’s a girl, she’s a girl and it’s _okay._ _  
_ _  
_Violet’s smiling brightly now, looking at Huey with—with something. She’ll have to analyze it later, but right now she’s too busy stimming out her excitement, nearly bouncing out of Louie’s bed to lessen the risk of hitting Violet, but mostly so she can twirl around the room, energy coursing through her.  
  
“I’m a girl!” she shouts into the air. “And no one can do anything about it!”  
  
“They’ll have to come to me if they have any issue,” Violet says, head propped against her hand.  
  
Huey pulls her into a hug. Violet lets out a startled yelp, but quickly recovers, reciprocating the action. “Thank you, _thank you,_ ” Huey says into Violet’s sweater. She lets go after a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  
  
“You probably wouldn’t be standing here talking to me.”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Huey giggles.  
  
Violet waves her hand. “By the way, I don’t mean to be invasive, but… why didn’t you go to one of your siblings for this? I imagine you’re closer to them than me. Not that I don’t consider us friends.”  
  
“That’s actually why.” Huey rubs her arms. “I don’t have to live with you for the next seven years, so it was a little easier. And I didn’t know you were trans, so it felt… safer? I didn’t want to be offensive or anything talking to one of my siblings.”  
  
“Understandable. I have one more question.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“What would you like me to call you?” she inquires. “If you want a different name.”  
  
“Oh!” Huey brings her hand to her chin thoughtfully. “I didn’t really think that far ahead. Changing my name wasn’t on my mind when even the idea of being a girl was nerve-wracking. I… I’ll have to think about it, but right now I want to stay as Huey. It’s cheesy, but I like matching with my siblings. Maybe I’ll do what Dewey did—change my full name, keep the nickname.”  
  
“That sounds perfect, Huey.”  
  
Huey beams. “This is all really new to me, so… would it be okay if you could help me with some of it? You and Webby?”  
  
“Of course. If you ever have any questions, concerns, etcetera, you can come to me,” Violet confirms. “Thank you for trusting me with this. Is it okay if I refer to you with your new pronouns publicly, or would you rather not come out yet?”  
  
“It’s good. I’m gonna tell my family when they’re back, I don’t think I could stand them calling me a boy after this.”  
  
Violet stands, holding out her hand. “Alright. Well, welcome to the club, Huey.”  
  
Huey stares at her hand, slowly taking it. “Thanks,” she huffs out a laugh, letting Violet shake their hands.  
  
She wouldn’t be happier anywhere else.


End file.
